3 Weeks, 5 Days

pregnancy

Not that I really consider the E.D.D an exact science or even remotely infallible. It’s just what I have in my mind to consider. This is the gift I have been given since week 12 of my pregnancy. I can’t sleep, my hands , fingers and wrists are so swollen. My belly contains the universe for one little human, waiting for validity and the greetings of the earth. Within my body is another body, another rib cage, another set up legs, a heart beating blood and massive nets of skin. Eyes, a nose, two fists, two arms, a mouth.

To say that I am scared is an understatement. I’ve lost my nerves, I am trying to remain calm but the changes in my life will be unparalleled. The other part of this is excitement, to have my autonomy back and my body back, just mine. I’ll share it on occasion but not 24/7 for nine entire months as I have been. I’m scared of the challenge involved in this, longing for the constant partnership it will take to do this together. I don’t know if I can do it alone. I don’t want to be challenged to find out.

I can’t sleep. I guess I’ll continue to not sleep. Everything is waiting for you, Axel. My Christmas gift this year will be your beautiful little fresh born face. In the meantime, I’ll try to negotiate with the pains that are associated with your in utero growth.

In the meantime, talk soon,

 

ciao.

Stripping away my identity, one day at a time

pregnancy, writing

That’s what the past 6 months have felt like. My life will soon no longer revolve around me and my own whims and desires. As a self proclaimed wild-card, this is a bit much to accept. I am 29 years old this year and still feel like a kid, stumbling around my life. I could be 24 and tripping in the woods , dipping my toes in the springs and paying close attention to the ripples that start from my toes and end nowhere, around the planet, everywhere.

I like to think the ripples extended themselves all the way to the point in my life where I met my partner in Eugene, to the point when he impregnated me during a cold night in Boise, Idaho, and to the moment right now where I am typing with my laptop propped up against my very large belly. I like to think our son could kick the laptop off my lap in a violent stretching of his tiny legs if he really wanted to, and the fact that he hasn’t or isn’t says something.

I am scared I won’t be Camille anymore. I’ll just become a mother. But I know that’s not true. Something wonderful about my childhood is that we always knew our place. My parents had passions beyond raising us which is a stark difference between what I am displayed through social media in 2018. It’s almost like modern day parents are afraid of the world thinking their child isn’t their 100% highest priority in their life and I sort of think that sucks. For my father, music was his passion. He loved playing guitar more than anything in the world, more than spending time with us, more than anything. He shared his gift and passion with us and with the world and it is beautiful to me. We all knew our dad, Billy Bongster. He loved to play music and he loved to smoke weed and that was fine and it inspired us to find our own passions in life, which for me was always art. My mother was inspired to have fun, if one could ever say that, but she was truly always a free spirit and was always dancing, going on adventures, immersing herself in self love and exploration and had a passion for life.

I was to raise my child in the same way, to know that mommy loves to paint and daddy loves to skate and we love him to the ends of the earth but he cannot believe he is more important than the passions we have harvested throughout our lives. That it’s important to have a passion and that we’re here to help him find his way and learn to navigate the earth and influence it for the better while he’s here.

I get lost thinking about this person, who will be around long before us and long enough to understand how our behaviors today have influenced his world. His life expectancy based on current data projections is 76 years old, and having been born in 2018 he will lie through the year 2094. A child of the future. How much has life changed for us born in the late 80s and early 90s? How much has life changed for our parents and our grandparents? It’s a massive duty to raise a human to love and protect our earth and to understand intimately how our actions drive both positive and negative change.

I don’t know how well we will do as parents, how well the planet will fare based on not just our influence but of the influence of everyone carrying new life right now and those that have birthed in recent years and will in the future. I can only promise him, myself, my partner and the universe this: I will do my best. and I will continue to be myself and project my energies into the world in hopes for a positive change. Lord knows we need it.

A son

pregnancy, writing

July 24th. A Tuesday. Thats when I went for an anatomical scan to further add more vague traits to the human person character growing in my womb. It’s strange and fascinating to me that while growing in my womb, tumbling and kicking and roaming about in the limited expansive of his own universe, I am out here on earth struggling to sleep, too.

My son.

It’s a nice finishing touch of a thought I’ve had since I found out. What else is there to discover? I have just about 4 months to go before we meet. What a nervous feeling this is. I wonder if you’ll identify with that, I wonder if you’ll be healthy. I wonder what color eyes you’ll have, and if you’ll be as enamored with music and art as I am. I wonder if you’ll share my father’s birthdate, or if you’ll have a sense of humor like your own father.

A sense of athleticism.

I wonder all kinds of things, with each stroke of the paint brush. I’m trying to keep busy inside, at least.

 

 

I was go display at the Indigo arts festival, but pain kept me home. I used it as an excuse to paint for weeks before the event. “I’ve gotta paint today” I lament to my Fiance, ‘please berate me if I don’t paint”.

He asked me a month after the event, when was that again? I slept in, all day, didn’t go. painted for me, not for anyone else. It’s been like that a lot. I had no idea pregnancy would bring this kind of pain. Crippling pain, I’m the frozen green bean queen with a pack of frozen vegetables on my head to ease the swelling in my brain. These constant migraines are killing me. I guess thats it. The little death. Le petit morte. I’m dying so that I can bring into the world a brand new life.

I’m listening to trip hop lightly on the couch in a cold, cold room with my crown of frozen vegetables trying to avoid light and movement. My vision is blurred, I’m dizzy, I hate this and on top of that I feel guilt. Everyone I know is depressed. Is society ever going to get better? Is it even a fair to invite another human onto the planet in this state? It’s making me feel terrible, and more obligated than ever to try contributing personally to the “good things” you can do as a human to make earth better. How do we as a world abolish scarcity and do better and provide for everyone that exists? Why don’t we all recognize that its the only way for the future?

If nothing else, my child will make me work harder for this. I don’t know how to solve the problem and bring everyone on the same page. People like working, but there’s nothing to do anymore for them.

Jobs nowadays are creating and managing systems, integrating technology into the fabrics of society that have existed for millennia.

These are my thoughts lately. “I’ve never been in this much pain in my life.” “I can’t believe this is really happening in (the United States).” “I feel so in love.”

I’ve been able to make art lately. Check it out at the art page if you please. I’ll update soon, I’m here with passion pit and a migraine until next time, sweet friends. <3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

pregnancy

I suppose..

pregnancy, writing

When you get so old you start realizing you are putting efforts into the wrong place.

I suppose I read through past posts, the digital footprints I’ve littered across the internet because I’m too conscious to ever litter in the real world. This kind of litter, I guess it’s not that bad compared to a plastic grocery bag a turtle might get caught up in. Or an old Dr. Pepper can of soda that becomes the eventual home to a school of fish larvae in the gulf.

Various moods, visuals, different pains resulted from different situations, romantic partners, goals that swallow me up and spit me back out like I’m constantly treading the deep waves of the east Atlantic ocean.

Hello, I am Camille and I feel sad. Happy. Ecstatic. Terrified. Angry.

I’m feeling all kinds of ways lately. I thought 2014 was as bad as things could get but I didn’t know the capacity for pain life carries with it. I didn’t expect to have to deal with drug addiction in my family, again, with a sibling. I never anticipated a nephew that has to grow up in an environment as colorful and riddled in the stress of being the child of an addict even worse than was the situation for me and my siblings. I never imagined that kind of pain a little boy that survived despite the world working against him from birth would bring me. It drove me away from my home state of which I love. Gosh, it’s cold out here but at least I don’t know anyone and the pain ain’t so close to my heart. I can’t drive up the street and look at it. I don’t need to see those tattoos, those track marks, those rotting teeth looking back at me, asking to borrow money, asking for my forgiveness, saying cruel things.

I didn’t know how largely they could become stressors even from 3,000 miles away, building up at me and eating away at me until I can’t take it anymore and just cry. into my pillows, a strong shoulder, whatever is available. Grow up, be a woman, you’re almost 30 years old. I hate myself for it but it all seems so unfair.

I don’t know who to talk to, who could I talk to? They just say “I’m sorry” and I am sorry too because it’s a problem that can’t be fixed and if ever i had an enemy that situation would be it. I want to shake the world and find peace in the hearts of the people I love but my hand gets bitten, my heart turns cold and it just hurts and hurts and hurts.

Trying to let go is hard. All of the effort put into others was misdirected. Sure, I can proudly say I broke out of my caste system and made something of myself but I feel oh.. i don’t know. Incomplete. Like I left my soul somewhere on the floor and left the room and left the house and left the state and now I don’t have one anymore, it’s become a puddle somewhere that gets stepped on and ignored and is more or less a mess that no one will ever clean up.

Maybe it’s too late to get that soul back but I found a way to build a new one. Stop paying mind to everything that hurts and build a love inside myself. Cells multiplying every day, cells made out of love and maybe some biological material and DNA too but mostly love.

It’s rebuilding my soul, and sure it’s tiring and sometimes I think it’s probably the worst feeling but it’s rebuilding something I lost a long time ago and so the exhaustion, it’s probably worth it to me. It will be my greatest work of art. The building of a brand new soul.